


The Deal

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Explanations, can be platonic/romantic lmao its kinda up for interpretation, get off my back xo, i did not go back and look at every second of every episode, i've been wanting to do this for forever, listen misters, or anything said by moffat or gattis, so inaccuracy is to be expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 13:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18447665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I’ll cut a deal with you, how about that?” She had said, holding her hands together by her chest.“What kind of deal?” Sherlock had asked.“I’ll let you rent 221B if-- and only if-- you agree you’ll find yourself a flatmate.”





	The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to note that I don't have a shit understanding of writing layouts etc. etc., I just really don't feel like editing this any more than I have already. So, like, paragraphs? I don't know her.
> 
> Also, I wrote this at 1 AM on a Friday night, didn't proofread, and didn't check my facts. However, Grammarly says I did great, so that's got to be worth something.

Sherlock Holmes, despite not having a job, was not a penniless man. Regardless of their silly feud, his brother often put money into his accounts by the thousands, seeing as he had no source of income. He could pay his bills, buy his food, pay his way out of jail, and otherwise tend to whatever costly deeds he came into contact with in his day-to-day, week-to-week, month-to-month life. So, it can be argued that upon finding a for-sale flat on Baker Street, Sherlock’s first thoughts were not “How can I afford this?” nor anything similar to such a question. He did not need help paying for his stay there, so he did not need a roommate.

That part was Mrs. Hudson’s idea.

Upon realizing the flat for sale was being rented out by a woman he would-- if he were, at this point in his life, not entirely closed-off and still considering himself an unloving, unlovable sociopath-- almost consider a friend, he thought the taking of said flat would be incredibly easy. He’d pop in, say “Hello,” mention his interest, sign some papers, give some money, bada-bing bada-boom (Granted, he would not say those exact words, nor anything remotely similar.) However, Mrs. Hudson had something incredibly dissimilar in mind.

“I’ll cut a deal with you, how about that?” She had said, holding her hands together by her chest.

“What kind of deal?” Sherlock had asked.

“I’ll let you rent 221B if-- and only if-- you agree you’ll find yourself a flatmate.”

His initial reaction went as follows:  
1\. Disgrace. 2. Humiliation. 3. Upsettedness. 4. Slight anger. 4. Resonation. 5. Calmness

“Mrs. Hudson, while I do adore your constant attempts to find me any sort of…” He paused and his voice lowered in disdain “...Friends… I assure you I can pay for this on my one. Besides, who’d want me as a flatmate?”

Alas, his nagging and whining got him nowhere. Mrs. Hudson refused to allow him to sign the papers unless he agreed he’d try and find himself some poor, gullible fool to share a living space with. Slumping and depressed, he left 221A Baker Street and headed onto the street, where he decided he’d ask nearly everyone he came into contact with if, 1. They needed to find a cheap place of accommodation (Which he ensured would be temporary) or 2. They had any friends in need of a cheap place of accommodation (Which he, again, ensured would be completely and utterly temporary.) 

He ran into luck, he discovered, when he found a certain fellow, in particular, Mike Stamford. He had gone through his hasty routine of “Hey. Do you have a home? Do your friends have a home? I’m certainly a very difficult man to find a flatmate for, so do consider warning any possible applicants. Here’s my number.” leaving little time for Stamford to even think of a response, and moved on to the next group of non-psychopathic seeming individuals, and so on, and so on. At the end of the day, he went to his messy excuse of a flat and went to bed, leaving no strong expectations of any single person’s replies. He doubted he’d get any replies at all, actually, but he hoped Mrs. Hudson would appreciate his attempts, at least.

That morning, he noticed no new messages and let out a sigh of relief. He made a quick stop at 221A before making his way to the morgue. The conversation he and Mrs. Hudson had that morning went as followed.

Door opens. “Good morning, Mrs. Hudson, I--”

“Did you find someone?”

“No, actually I was hoping--” Slam!

Yeah, well, that does sound about right.

Sherlock went on about his day, checking his phone every so often. After a study of the formation of bruising postmortem (and the utter decimation of a man’s alibi) as well as a few other endeavors, he made his way to the lab. A few minutes into his testings, two men walked into the room. One was Mike Stamford, and the other was someone he would come to know as John Hamish Watson. 

Immediately, he knew exactly what they were here for. He glanced up at them before returning to his work, having already gathered any information he needed on the two men within the before-mentioned glance. 

“Well, bit different from my day.” The then-unidentified man said, looking around the laboratory.

“Oh, you have no idea!” bellowed Mike. Hmm, perhaps not ‘bellowed.’

Sherlock asked Stamford for his phone, to which he was asked why he couldn’t just use a landline. He said he preferred to text, and was shot down with Mike saying, “Sorry, It’s in my coat.” 

John piped in, “Uh, here. Use mine.” and reached into his pocket.

“Oh. Thank you.” 

“This is an old friend of mine, John Watson.” Name: Check. Sherlock walked over to John to retrieve the phone.

Skip a few deductions, a coffee-related interruption, a few amazed stares, et cetera, et cetera. We all know the drill. Sherlock asked if his habits could possibly both John, resulting in more confusion and amazement, explained via deductive explanation-- you know, the usual. He mentioned possible flatmates, earning even more confusion and amazement. A revelation of the address, an arguably unnecessary wink, and a relatively rude exit later, John was sitting in 221B with Sherlock, surrounded in junk and about to sign a paper agreeing to live with said junk as well as with Sherlock.

However, I suppose the ever-stressed “temporary” aspect of their combined living never crossed either of their mind’s, seeing as they, years later, are still taking residence in a cheap old flat on Baker Street together-- All because of a simple deal.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are encouraged! Criticism is encouraged! Please interact, as it feeds my ego.


End file.
